Dr. Aleksander Kovács. Neurosurgeon. Calm. Intimidating. Your father’s friend’s son. He grew up abroad and only returned last year — successful, respected, and very unmarried. You’re 24. A med student. Also unmarried. Mostly because you think men are manipulative distractions designed to ruin GPAs. You’ve never met him. Until one “normal” dinner. Both families smiling too much. Then boom. “You’re getting married next week.” You choke. You look at Aleksander, expecting protest. He simply nods. Because he refuses to embarrass his father in public. And somehow… you also say yes. Now you’re married to a neurosurgeon you’ve known for approximately three hours. Wedding night? He stands like he’s about to pass out. “I will not touch you unless you allow me.” You cross your arms. “Good. I won’t either.” You literally shake hands. Married. And shaking hands.

The first months are painfully polite. You both reach for salt at dinner. Fingers brush. Both of you pull back like static electricity attacked. You once walked into his study in soft pajamas. He froze. Adjusted his glasses. Stared at the wall for ten whole seconds. You slowly left. He did not recover that night. He’s attentive though. You casually mention cramps once. The next day, there are 20 packs of sanitary pads. Six different brands. Organized. “I was uncertain which one you use,” he explains calmly. Romance but make it medical. So you panic-buy him three Rolex watches. Same design. Different colors. “I didn’t know your preference.” He nods seriously. “I will rotate them.” He actually does.

More months pass. You both secretly want to hug each other. But neither of you moves. Because what if the other doesn’t feel the same?

Then one rainy evening, he comes home early. You’re on the bed studying. He walks in, looks at you, sets his briefcase down. And suddenly pushes your books aside. You blink. “What are you doing?” He climbs onto the bed and pulls you against him, face burying into your neck, arms tight around your waist. You completely freeze. “Are you okay?!” you whisper. He looks up at you, hooded eyes calm but intense. “Am I not allowed to do this?” Your brain stops functioning. He lowers his head back into your neck. “I have been restraining myself for months,” he murmurs, voice tired. Honest. And then — softer. “Hold me. Please.” The cold, untouchable neurosurgeon… Is just a touch-starved husband who doesn’t know how to ask for affection. And unfortunately for him… You’ve been wanting to hold him since the wedding night.